Sherlock Versus the Volcano
by maimas
Summary: Sherlock must venture to a secluded island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean to solve a murder with his name on it, literally. He drags Molly along with him to help. What he didn't expect was to fall in love while staring into a fiery volcano.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Sherlock_ and/or _Joe Versus the Volcano_. I just wanted them to be together on this Valentine's Day.

**Rated:** K+ (for now...)

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_**Sherlock Versus the Volcano, Chapter 1: Waponi Woo Will Eat You**_

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"Sir?" a muffled voice asked.

Sherlock's mind was wandering again, trying to solve this puzzle before anyone else could. He found himself wondering how this was possible.

"Can I help you, sir?" the voice asked again.

Not so much how it was possible, but why? How was an easier question to figure out. Figuring out how was like trying to pick a lock, something Sherlock had been able to do since infancy and-quite honestly it could get pretty boring.

Never mind that though, back to his puzzle. Why did this happen?

The drowned-out voice grew fainter-"Sir, are you alright?"-as his mind trailed off.

Sherlock shifted his thoughts back to a few hours earlier, when Samuel Graynamore was sitting in his flat.

"I am sorry I couldn't have made this simpler by calling you, Mr. Holmes," the man had said. "Where I'm currently working, we don't have the luxury of mobile service, or any telephone for that matter."

"Where are you working, Mr. Graynamore?" Sherlock inquired as he finished his mental analysis on the stranger. Samuel Graynamore was an older man who'd had an easier and wealthier life than most. His hair, which had more gray than black hair, was trimmed and well kept. His clothes, though a bit unconventional for the latest London fashion (Safari kit, brand new), were high quality with very few stains or tears. Wherever this man worked, he was likely a supervisor dressed for the job with comfort.

Graynamore smiled and started to shift his body into a more comfortable position, like he was preparing himself for a lengthy explanation. "Well, I'll try to keep this short, but I hope you like stories. I come from an island" he began, pausing slightly in the middle of his sentence while he finished getting comfortable.

Already annoyed with his visitor, Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a slow, bored sigh before interrupting his guest. "If you mean to entice me with some mystery surrounding the native flora and fauna of this island, you can save your breath."

"What about the discovery of a new and rare mineral, Mr. Holmes? Do many of your traveling clients have that to talk about?" Graynamore asked triumphantly.

Sherlock raised his right eyebrow skeptically because he was still annoyed, even though rare minerals was a new topic for him when it came to island talk.

"I am currently mining for a rare mineral called bubaru" Graynamore explained as he reached in his pants pocket and pulled out what looked like a small, metal-like rock. "It's the mineral I use for manufacturing my superconductors, top-of-the-line stuff." He tossed the rock to Sherlock to examine while he stood and walked around the flat examining the contents on the shelves.

"Bubaru can only be found in deposits around Waponi Woo-which means 'Little Island, Big Volcano'. I've tried searching everywhere for this stuff and I can't find it except on this tiny island in the middle of the Pacific" Graynamore paused to scan the book titles his host kept on his shelves.

"Believe me, your 'show and tell' is all so very fascinating to my inner child, if I had one, but I'd really much rather you get to the point," Sherlock said as he rotated the foreign rock in his hand.

Graynamore continued with his story, ignoring Sherlock's impatience. "The natives of Waponi Woo allowed me to mine for the bubaru once I helped them." Graynamore turned to Sherlock with a small smile, "I had to find them a volunteer to jump into the volcano."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation as he looked over to Graynamore.

Graynamore turned back to the shelves as he continued. "The Waponis believe there is a god that lives in the volcano, and that god will leave them in peace as long as he is appeased with a voluntary human sacrifice every century. It has been 99 years since the last sacrifice and none of the Waponis are willing to volunteer this year. This is where I come in." Graynamore made his way back to his chair taking the rock from Sherlock's hand and sat down.

"Once I found the bubaru and learned of the Waponis' problem, it became very simple: find someone with no family, no will to live any longer, and if they had a terminal illness of some sort, then maybe they'd be more willing to leap into a volcano. I was a little surprised at how easy it was to find such a person. An old colleague of mine, Dr. Ellison, in New York City, helped me find Joe Banks, a man in his mid 30s, retired firefighter, no family, dead-end job, and quite recently found out he had terminal brain cancer." Graynamore began to look sentimental as he stared at the bubaru.

"I went to Joe's home and spoke with him. He had quit his job and planned to waste his remaining months in sloth. I told him the same story I've told you about the bubaru and the Waponis, and I made him an offer: Take an all-expense paid vacation to Waponi Woo and jump in to the volcano. Live like a king, die like a man, that's what I say." Graynamore smiled at Sherlock and put the rock back into his pants pocket.

Sherlock decided to pipe in, "Mr. Graynamore, it sounds like you've been a fastidious businessman, but I'm still failing to see why you're here, in my flat, telling me all of this."

Graynamore sighed heavily, as if he were trying to find the right thing to say at a difficult time. "Joe Banks was found dead in his hut three days ago."

"Well. Perhaps one of the Waponis will overcome their shame and 'man-up'' for the job. Or maybe you can find some other schmuck on the street to fill the position. Might I suggest that this time you find someone who won't die of their sickness before they've fulfilled your contract and after they've used up your money" Sherlock suggested.

Graynamore looked down at his hands, unable to speak.

"I will ask you once more before I lose all patience and request that you go tell your sob story to someone else: what are you doing here, Mr. Graynamore?"

Sherlock's guest shifted a little as he reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a photo. "Joe was a good man. He deserved the honorable death he was going to receive for jumping in that volcano. But the cancer isn't what killed him, Mr. Holmes. He was murdered," Graynamore handed the photo to Sherlock, "and your name was written in his blood."

Sherlock squinted at the photo in disbelief. A body lay on his back on the ground of a hut and enough blood everywhere to make it seem like a sacrifice had indeed been made. It was hard to tell what exactly killed Mr. Banks, between the multiple lacerations all over his body and the intense bruising of the skin near critical organs. And on the wall behind the body of Mr. Banks there was a message, written in what was very clearly blood.

Find Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was suddenly snapped from his recollection of Graynamore's visit. The strange, faint voice filtered back in.

"Sir, what is your name? Is there someone I can call for you?"

Damn it, he'd done it again.

Sherlock blinked and shook his head. He really needed to limit his mental excursions for when he was at his flat, but he couldn't dwell on that right then. He looked around, realizing he was standing in the middle of a luggage store with the only employee watching him as he came back to reality.

"Right!" Sherlock exclaimed as he started walking around the shop, remembering why he came here. "I'm going on a long trip, unfortunately, and require new luggage."

Stunned by his customer's behavior, the luggage salesman cleared his throat, wiping the confused look off his face. "Well, sir, have you thought much about what kind of luggage?"

"No", Sherlock replied.

"It's the central preoccupation of my life. How will you be traveling?" the salesman asked.

"I'll be flying to Los Angeles, whereupon I'll board a boat, which will then take me to an island," Sherlock explained reluctantly. He would really rather not go to Waponi Woo. It had taken quite a bit of convincing on Graynamore's part, and a promise for all expenses to be paid by Mycroft.

He could hear his brother's voice telling him when Sherlock's name appeared, written in blood on a secluded Pacific island, perhaps it would be prudent to investigate. Sherlock rolled his eyes, then reminded himself not to trail off again in front of the luggage salesman, or the salesman might be inclined to phone someone unpleasant like the authorities, or a psychiatric ward.

"A sea voyage? How exciting! Come this way," the salesman said as he motioned for Sherlock to follow. He guided Sherlock towards the rear of the store, where he opened a set of double doors and rolled out the largest suitcase Sherlock had ever seen. "This is our premier steamer trunk. It's completely handmade with only the finest materials. It's even watertight, tight as a drum. If I had the need, this would be my trunk of choice."

He was a passionate luggage salesman.

Sherlock looked over the trunk, imagining what all he could store in it. Hell, it was large enough he could stuff Mycroft in it and bring him along, and Mycroft would be paying for it anyway. "I'll take four," Sherlock blurted.

Surprised and excited, the salesman furiously shook Sherlock's hand "May you live to be a thousand years old, sir."

Sherlock smiled. Take that, Mycroft.

Sherlock stood in the middle of his flat staring at his new purchases. Each one was open on the floor surrounding him. He couldn't convince his brother to stop by for a visit before his departure the next morning, so his clever plan to take Mycroft along wasn't going to pan out. Sherlock sighed, he was really looking forward to that interaction.

Sherlock didn't doubt he could fill these trunks with his things; he could take quite a few experiments and his violin to keep him occupied during the week-long excursion to Waponi Woo. Weight wouldn't be an issue because he wouldn't have to worry about transporting the trunks, since that was going to be taken care of by the services his brother was providing for the duration of the trip.

Sherlock just didn't want to pack.

Perhaps it was a bit much. There was a lot of volume to fill.

Never one to feel buyer's remorse, Sherlock studied the large trunks, not only trying to figure out what else to take with him, but also worried about what he'd do with them once he had returned. They were rather large and would not be easy to store in his flat.

Maybe he would donate them. That would put his brother in a lather. Storage was always an issue at Barts, he thought, brightening.

He could picture himself sweeping into the lab, directing some faceless delivery people to place the trunks on the shelves. Molly's face would light up at his thoughtfulness, and he would nod graciously at all of her happy exclamations. He might even return that hug she'd probably insist on giving him.

Molly Hooper. Her name repeated in his head like a song he couldn't tune out.

He's been dreading this trip, feeling somewhat uneasy since his interaction with Samuel Graynamore. Try though he might, he just couldn't decide why his name would appear on a dead body on Waponi Woo.

Somehow, thoughts of Molly brought him peace of mind.

She was terribly expressive. When she hugged him to thank him for his kind trunk donation, she'd probably kiss his cheek, too.

He paused, wondering. Because with that thought came illusory detail of just what her lips would feel like pressed to his cheek. Or maybe his lips.

Sherlock shook his head. This is not the time for that.

Sherlock wasn't romantically involved with the pathologist, but this wasn't the first time he'd caught himself beginning to daydream about her. He'd tried to erase those... feelings, but they kept coming back.

He needed to turn his focus back to the trunks and his trip.

Perhaps he would feel more comfortable and less reluctant to travel if he had a companion. Conversation with anyone new and "making friends" was such a dreadful task. Also, once he got to the island, he's need someone to make sure he wasn't going to be part of some ritualistic feast where he was the feast.

The plan to stuff his brother into one of the trunks had fallen through and John would need to stay behind for Mary and the baby, not to mention field any new cases that came in.

This left one person he could tolerate, but it would take quite a bit of convincing on his part to get her to come. He could do it. Or he'd just have to reinstate the stuffing-into-the-trunk idea.

Sherlock chuckled to himself.

In one swift motion, he threw on his coat, pulled out his mobile, and dialed as he headed out of his flat. "Mycroft, make the necessary arrangements for two passengers going to Waponi Woo. I'm taking Dr. Hooper." He hung up before Mycroft could protest. When his brother didn't call back he knew it meant he'd been successful..

As Sherlock opened the front door to Baker Street he smirked. "This ought to be fun," and with that, he headed off to see Molly.

What on Earth is Sherlock thinking?! What on Earth am I thinking?!

Molly, nervously fidgeting with her purse handles, asked herself these questions while she watched Mycroft Holmes' men load Sherlock's four, very large trunks onto the jet through the window of the plane.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned against the aeroplane wall.

"Molly, are you alright?" Sherlock said, coming up behind her.

She answered only by glaring at him.

He returned a small frown and eyeroll before slumping into one of the comfortable leather armchairs on the opposite side of the plane from her.

"You must admit, this is far better than flying coach with a hundred strangers coughing and sneezing into your air supply" Sherlock said, resting his head in the chair closing his eyes.

"I shouldn't be flying anywhere at all!" Molly blurted. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this! I have work I haven't finished and it's not like death will stop while I'm on vacation!"

"This isn't a vacation, you're assisting me on a case and you will be compensated for your time. Plus, it's not like there aren't other pathologists in London to fill in for you during your absence. My brother ensures me he's brought in the best to take care of your workload," Sherlock explained as he glanced at his watch.

Molly scowled at him. She didn't like to think there could be a "better" pathologist performing her post-mortems.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Hooper," a woman interjected. "Excuse my interruption, my name is Caroline and I will be taking care of you during your flight to Los Angeles. Here to assist me,"-she gestured to a beaming, waving man standing next to her-"is my trainee, Arthur. If you need anything, just let either of us know. We'll be taking off soon so is there something I can start you off with?"

"Yes" Sherlock answered, "I'll take a some hot tea, please."

"I'd like a Ribena and a hammer, please" Molly said firmly.

Caroline raised her eyebrows and smiled while Arthur said without missing a beat, "Right away, madam!" and took off towards the maintenance area on the jet.

"Perhaps we could make that Ribena a little extra special for you" Caroline said winking at Molly. The flight attendant walked off towards the kitchen area to make the drinks.

"What do you need a hammer for?" Sherlock asked, looking at Molly with mild curiosity. Innocent lamb.

She answered him with a raised eyebrow.

"Molly, I hope you don't plan on answering my questions with facial gestures the entire trip. I didn't mean imply that your temporary replacement is better than you are, though I've never met the person, nor have I seen his credentials. So I really couldn't weigh in on that aspect," Sherlock cajoled.

Molly sighed and crossed her arms, looking out the window again. She could see two, uniformed men walk up to the jet, hand their bags to the crewmen and board the plane.

Caroline brought Molly and Sherlock their drinks and disappeared to complete her pre-flight check.

A few minutes passed in silence. Molly finished her beverage and set it on her side table. She noticed from her periphery that Sherlock was looking at her, but she didn't react other than returning her gaze out the window.

"In all truth, Molly," Sherlock said, breaking the silence, "I need you."

She frowned and whipped her head around to acknowledge Sherlock.

"I realize this is quite a length of time to take you away from your home. I realize it was last minute and a lot to ask of you. I don't know what I'm going to find once we get to Waponi Woo, but I do know that I need someone there with me. I need someone to help me investigate the murder, someone to make sure I don't offend every person I meet on the way and wind up stranded on the island. I need someone who will keep me company on the way, and that person is you," he said with sincerity in his voice. His eyes were softer than normal.

She lost herself in his gaze. When he wanted to, his light eyes could become rather expressive, making it hard for her to say no. Which was how she'd ended up here in the first place.

Making it worse, she could tell that he was being honest. She knew he needed her help, or he wouldn't have come to her. Besides, if this whole trip was endorsed by Mycroft, it couldn't be all bad, right?

Molly was nervous about traveling this long with Sherlock. Her lab was her safe zone, where she could shine and where she was her at her best. But now she didn't have that safety net, and her emotions overwhelmed her.

Molly gave Sherlock a smile and a nodded to let him know she was not angry with him. When he smiled back she immediately felt better and calm about the situation.

"Here you go, madam!" Arthur said happily, popping out of nowhere and handing a hammer to Molly. "We'll be taking off here shortly, so if I could trouble you two into troubling yourselves with fastening your safety belts at this point in time, that'd be great. 'This point in time' being embarkation of our flight. And please, leave them fastened at all times during the flight, except such times that you're not in your seats. It would be awfully hard to be buckled in while you walk about the cabin. Anyway, in conclusion, please fasten your safety belts and we'll be on our way!" Arthur took off again, back to his designated area.

Molly and Sherlock exchanged confused looks.

Sherlock shrugged, rose from his chair, walked over to Molly, and knelt before her. She watched him, as she clutched the hammer close to her, while he found her seat belt straps and buckled her in. He tightened it and looked up at her as his hands fell on the seat on either side of her legs. They gazed at each other for a few beats before he grinned at her, stood, and returned to his seat buckling himself in.

"What?" she asked about the grin.

"I gave you the perfect opportunity to use the hammer. I'm glad you didn't take it," Sherlock answered blandly.

They both smiled at each other.

"Good morning," a voice came over the intercom, "Captain Crieff speaking, your captain today. Flying with me is First Officer Douglas Richardson…."

When Molly and Sherlock arrived in Los Angeles, they were met by a limousine and Graynamore's daughter, Angelica, who escorted them to the marina to meet their boat.

Angelica was a sweet, young woman, when she wasn't obsessing about her curly, red hair or furiously typing away on her mobile. On the way to the marina, she made small talk with Molly while Sherlock stared out the car window. Angelica mostly talked about herself and boasted about how she was a painter and a poet.

"Would you like to hear one of my poems?" Angelica asked Molly excitedly.

"Why not?" Molly replied with a smile. Sherlock gave Molly an exasperated look, and which only reinforced the notion that he needed someone there for sheer diplomacy, let alone any other assistance she might provide.

Angelica straightened her back and gained a serious expression on her face as she looked down at her hands. Dragging the fingertips of one hand slowly down the palm of the other hand, she said "Long ago, the delicate tangles of his hair… covered the emptiness of my hand…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Molly watched her, waiting for more.

"Would you like to hear it again?" Angelica asked.

Molly raised her eyebrows getting ready to respond, but Sherlock interrupted. "Do you have one of your paintings with you, instead?"

Molly quickly shot him a look telling him to be quiet and be nice. He gave her a sheepish smile and went back to looking out the window of the limousine.

When they arrived at the marina, they met their captain and crew and toured the sailboat that would be ferrying Molly and Sherlock to Waponi Woo. The Tweedle Dee, which was more like a yacht than a boat, was one of the nicer sailboats you'd see on the ocean, with six beds, three restrooms, a full kitchen and bar area, and a common room.

Molly visited with Angelica some more, who kept checking the time as if she needed to be somewhere, while the crew members loaded Sherlock's trunks onto the Tweedle Dee. The sailboat was at least 14 meters long, one of the largest in the marina. Sherlock studied the vessel, rather than joining in on the conversation the women were having.

Once the crew was finished loading, Angelica quickly said goodbye to Molly and Sherlock and left with the limousine.

Molly and Sherlock stood on the deck and watched as the crew pushed off from the dock. In a few days' time they'd arrive to the island of Waponi Woo.

The first night aboard was awkward for Molly. As she settled in her cabin, putting her things away in drawers and cabinets, she had enough time with her thoughts to worry about everything that was happening.

She felt out of place, like she was going into something completely blind. She still could not believe she was on a sailboat on her way to a secluded island with Sherlock Holmes. Based on Angelica's behavior at the dock, Molly felt like she and Sherlock were intruding. Not to mention the fact a man was murdered in the middle of nowhere and Sherlock's name was written using the victim's blood.

She finished putting her last pair of socks in a drawer, sighed, and sat down on the bed staring at the wall in front of her. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten in her head to calm her mind.

"Is everything alright?" Sherlock asked. Molly hadn't heard his footsteps approaching her cabin door. The counting must have worked.

She gave him an embarrassed smile, "Yes, I'm just… I'm just trying to figure out what I'm doing here."

"You're here to help me," Sherlock explained slowly, looking annoyed that they were having the same conversation again.

"I know, I know. I just… I only have lab and morgue experience, as far as forensics goes. I've never had to travel this far for work, we haven't even discussed the murder since you told me in the lab, where you basically kidnapped me, and I don't even have a notepad," she vented.

"What do you need a notepad for?" Sherlock asked as he moved towards Molly's bed and sat down next to her.

Surprised that he was so close her, her heart fluttered a little. "Well, uh, doesn't John take notes when you two do cases like this?"

Sherlock smiled at her, looking into her eyes. "I don't want you to be John, I want you to be you."

Molly stared back at him. Her heart kicked again.

Sherlock leaned towards her and gave her a light kiss on her cheekbone. "You're a brilliant woman, Molly Hooper. You'll be a wonderful assistant. You are wonderful. You just need to remember that."

Molly was beside herself and couldn't help but blush. Hearing Sherlock say all of that just after kissing her made her face and chest burn like fire.

Satisfied that he'd bolstered her, Sherlock stood up. "Now, we have a few days on this boat to discuss the possibilities of how this murder happened and why my name was involved, but until we reach Waponi Woo all we have is the photograph Mr. Graynamore gave me. For now, let's enjoy this time we have together. After all, when was the last time you took a sailboat to a tropical island?"

He continued, "The captain informed me that dinner will be ready soon and we'll be dining on the deck. Care to join me?" He held his hand out for her. She stared at his hand for a moment, admiring its features before complying. She watched as his fingers wrapped around her hand, his thumb moved slowly over her knuckles. She looked up at him.

Would she care to join him?

As if she would ever not care.


End file.
